Paris Skyle: The History Of
by CrepsleytheCreep
Summary: Darren O'Shaugnessy didn't really tell us about Paris Skyle's past. This is my take on it! Our dear Prince's family, the vampire who turned him, the vampires and humans he had met... Enjoy! [EDIT: I realize that Paris was blooded at the age of two, so this is a bit AU. I(I didn't know that till after I published the story. My bad.)]


Hi guys. Sorry it's been so long, but my internet was out for about a week or so, therefore I could not update.

I personally think that Paris is deserving of a fanfic about him solely, so here I am.

Enjoy.

* * *

Paris Skyle sat upon his throne in the Hall of Princes, pondering his eight hundred years or so of life.

He had been doing this quite often. Paris knew he was close to death, but no one else in the entire mountain wanted to come right out and say it.

Part of him wished he could die in battle or skirmish, but the younger Princes refused to let him fight.

It had been approximately a week since Darren Shan, half-vampire cub Prince, Larten Crepsley, former General and would-be Prince, and Harkat Mulds, Little Person, had set out to hunt down the Vampaneze Lord. They had been chosen by Desmond Tiny himself.

"I wonder how much of this war I will live to see unfold," Paris muttered to himself in his ageing voice.

Paris's thoughts drifted back to his life as a young vampire and much of his early life, agile and free.

* * *

A young Paris Skyle was fetching water from the well in a small village. He was the third child in a family of six, and he was in his teenage years.

Paris hauled the bucket back into the small house, huffing a bit at its weight.

"Paris," his mother called. "Did you get the water, dear?"

"Yes, Ma," Paris replied, setting the pail onto the wooden kitchen table.

His father had passed away two years before Paris had turned fourteen years of age. Now it was him, his mother, and his four sisters.

"Good. Now, Paris, do you mind running along after Sonia? She wandered out the door a few minutes ago." His mother looked a bit worried.

"Alright," Paris agreed obediently. He headed out for the second time that morning.

He found his youngest sister, Sonia Skyle, playing with the other village children.

"Sonia," he called to his eight-year-old sister, "Ma asked me to look after you."

His sister grinned back at him, nodding, and went back to the game.

Paris had never hesitated to help his sisters or mother. His family meant the world to him, and recently when his father had died, they meant so much more.

Paris sat down by a tree and watched the children play.

Life was very simple. There was no major cites. The world was only just beginning to be discovered, bit by bit. The work was easy to do, and although there was many sicknesses and diseases without cures, life could be enjoyable and the years could be kind to you if you let them.

There was not yet a proper schooling system, and very few people could read and write at all.

Paris always wondered if there could be something more. He would never bore of doing his daily chores, taking care of his family, or running errands, but sometimes he wondered if some kind of adventure would ever befall him.

* * *

Paris sat up in bed. He realized it wasn't yet morning, as the room was dark and no light filtered in from the cracks in the window shutters.

Occasionally he would wake up in early hours of morning, when it was still dark, and stare at the crudely made ceiling of the small house.

Paris walked over to the window, careful not to wake his slumbering family. He pushed open one of the shutters just a bit, and inhaled the night air.

Paris heard a sound. A large, bulky man undid the door's crude rope lock and snuck into Paris's home.

Paris tensed up. Closing the shutter quietly, he noticed one of his mother's meat knives, and picked it up.

Hiding in the shadows, Paris got ready to pounce at the stranger if he walked in.

Sure enough, the man stalked into the bedroom, not making a sound. He loomed over the sleeping family, quieter than a mouse.

Paris jumped.

He aimed the knife at the newcomer's heart, but missed when the man flung him aside.

The knife was out of Paris's reach now.

The stranger had his back to the slightly-stirred family (although they were still asleep), and now glared at Paris.

Paris got to his feet and decided to put on a brave face. "Do whatever you want me," he looked at the newcomer straight in the eyes, "and leave my family to peace."

"You have nerve, boy," The man sneered, "To attack a _bloodsucker._"

Paris gasped.

* * *

I must has

R  
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V  
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S

! 


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